Oh, Say Can You See
by iStalkAMuffin
Summary: Alfred's actions and reactions to the 9/11 attack. Tribute to the fallen


**September 11, 2001**

Alfred groaned as his alarm went off. The incessant beeping continued until he hit the snooze button. Bright red letter proclaimed that it was 7:45 AM.

Knowing he was going to be late for work if he slept in any later, he drug himself out of bed, nearly stubbing his toe on the night stand. Cursing under his breath, he grabbed his glasses and headed for the bathroom.

Bright blue eyes stared back at him in the mirror. He looked like hell, as he did every morning. After waking himself up by splashing cold water on his face, he snuck a peek outside of his window.

It was a beautiful day in New York City! The sky was as blue as blue could get, there were no clouds in sight, and people were up and about, ready to get on with their Tuesday. Alfred's dreary mood seemed to lighten completely, as he brushed his teeth and combed outrageous knots from his hair. With a huge grin on his face, he pulled on his jacket over his khaki uniform and bolted out the door.

**8:02 AM **

"Alright, Canada, I'll see you later." The phone call was ended as Alfred pulled into his parking spot at the local McDonald's. He was ready for his bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich, and his mouth was watering just thinking about it. So, he proceeded to make his way through the motions of a normal Tuesday.

**8:30 AM**

Something felt off to Alfred. He wasn't quite sure what was going on, but it just didn't seem right.

_Maybe I'm just imagining things, _He thought. _What could possibly go wrong on an awesome day like this?_

And so he continued to walk down the block, making his way to the Conference building. There weren't any big conferences going on today, so he was told that he could just check in and leave—if he didn't have any paperwork to do, anyway.

He entered the building without hesitation and started to walk down the corridor to his office.

But, he never made it that far.

**8:46 AM**

The sharpest pain Alfred had ever felt in his life took a shot right at his chest. He gasped, not knowing what was happening, and grabbed the wall. It wasn't like anything he'd ever experienced before, not like Pearl Harbor, not like the Great Depression, not like _anything._

His eyes started to blur, creating strange shapes in the hallway. The clock was not even two feet from him, and he could barely read it.

The time read 8:47.

Not even seconds after the pain had paralyzed and blinded him, Alfred was stumbling to the exit, hoping he could find relief outside in the fresh air.

Unfortunately, he was not greeted with fresh air. The air was contaminated with the powerful smell of burnt everything. It was impossible to say what had caught fire and what had not. People were screaming, but Alfred could barely hear it. All of his focus was on the strong, burning ache in his chest.

"What's going on!" He hears someone shout over the cacophony.

"A plane! A plane has hit the North Tower!"

"_That is not American Airlines!"_ Someone screams in his ear.

For the first time in years, Alfred was terrified, and he didn't know what he should do. So for the next few minutes, he just stood there, staring into the sky, wondering; _Why?_

**8:53 AM**

The pain had dulled enough that Alfred could focus on the task at hand. His feet moved without his brain telling them to, and he was making his way towards the billowing smoke that had plagued his beautiful World Trade Center.

People—_his_ people—were running the opposite direction, shouting, and crying, making it hard for Alfred to keep moving. Hundreds of feet above him, blocks away from him, Alfred could see the flames, he could see debris falling.

Only it wasn't debris. He kept walking.

**9:02 AM**

The time had been lost on him as he kept moving through the crowds of New York City, most of them in shock, some of them screaming in terror. His eyes were filled with tears and he had to keep wiping them away so he could continue to move.

"_Holy—_" Someone began to shout, but he didn't hear the last part. Another strong lance of pain shot through him, taking the hit directly to his chest. This time, he collapsed to his knees.

"We're under attack!" People screamed, but Alfred could no longer hear them. Tears pooled in his glasses as he took deep, gasping breaths, trying to remain calm, although the pain was eating away at him from the inside.

Another plane had hit the South Tower at exactly 9:03 AM.

**9:30 AM**

The last thing Alfred remembered after the South Tower was hit was the terrible cries from his people. It had already smelled like explosives and burning metal long before the plane crashed, and the stench had been intensified. And it wasn't long before Alfred realized that he was at war.

People were crowded around him now. No one had taken any notice of his collapsing when the plane hit, and they assumed it had been from shock. He moved his jacket over the blood that had started to soak through his uniform, and watched his World Trade Center burn.

Then, for the third time today, the pain hit again, but this time it was under his left temple. His cry of pain startled the crowd he had attracted, and they gave him some room to breathe. It was 9:37 AM and the United States of America was lying helpless on the sidewalk, holding his bloody chest, his throbbing head, and not knowing what the hell was going on.

**9:59—10:28 AM**

The worst half hour of Alfred's life was beginning to unfold.

At about 10 AM, the South Tower collapsed. His tears couldn't be stopped at this point, the pain was just too much for him to handle. The air was barely breathable by now, and the rotten smell of various burnt objects was driving the people away. Alfred was alone.

By the time the North Tower fell, he was delusional. His blood was pooling below him now, and his eyes were glassy.

The United States of America had never felt so lost.

**10 Years Later**

At the base of Ground Zero, Alfred stood, his eyes fixed on the fountain. This was where thousands of people were lost, never to be found again. Remains of his beloved people were at his feet.

In the 10 years to follow that horrible day, Alfred had never cried, not even once. He was too busy trying to get back on his feet, which is exactly what he had managed to do. Thousands of people surrounded him now, all of them there for the same purpose that he was. They wanted to remember.

At that moment, he turned to his people. Tears were streaming down his face, and his lips lifted into a small smile. He placed his right hand over his heart.

_Oh, say can you see…_


End file.
